


A Fortuitous Meeting

by elizaye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Castiel is Bones, Field Trip, M/M, Museums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has mixed feelings when it comes to field trips. They’re great because he gets to escape from the classroom for a day, but they’re also boring because the destinations are almost invariably museums, which are by definition old and crusty and yeah, boring. So when a relatively young—<em>hot</em>—man walks into the room, it makes sense that Dean is taken by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fortuitous Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I figured I should post something because it's been so long (sorry!), so I pulled a ficlet from a while back. I wrote it on the flight home from China last year, so this was written at the end of last October. God, time goes by so fast.
> 
> Anyway, this was originally supposed to be a prelude to a bigger project, but I have no time for it, so I'm just gonna leave it at this. Hope it's at least a little amusing, idk.
> 
> Also, the Jeffersonian was shamelessly appropriated from Bones :)

Dean has mixed feelings when it comes to field trips. They’re great because he gets to escape from the classroom for a day, but they’re also boring because the destinations are almost invariably museums, which are by definition old and crusty and yeah, boring.

When they walk into a display room with dozens of fossils lining the walls, Dean is fully prepared to be bored out of his mind by whoever’s going to be introducing this room to them. Maybe it’ll be one of those strict little ladies who never smiles. Or an old man who speaks in a monotone and glares at anyone who dares venture too close to the display cases.

So when a relatively young— _hot_ —man walks out of a side door, it makes sense that Dean is taken by surprise.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he says in a low, grating voice that can _not_  be natural. It wouldn’t be fucking  _fair_ , dammit. “I was busy examining some artifacts, and my assistant neglected to remind me of the time.”

Mrs. Novak smiles. “It’s all right. We only just arrived ourselves.” Then she turns to address the class and says, “This is Dr. Novak, a forensic anthropologist here at the Jeffersonian.”

Dean’s heart sinks—Dr. Novak, Mrs. Novak. This is his teacher’s husband, which means he totally would not take it well if Dean started hitting on him. It’s a goddamn shame.

“No doubt you’ve noticed that we share the same surname,” Dr. Novak says. “We are related, though probably not in the way that you think. Your teacher is married to my brother.”

Brother, Dean thinks, and holds back a sigh of relief. Just because that Mrs. Novak isn’t married to Dr. Novak doesn’t mean there isn’t another Mrs. Novak out there.

“Now that your curiosity has been satisfied, I expect you’ll be able to pay attention while I introduce this exhibit to you.”

* * *

When the class stops for lunch, Dean slips his name tag into his pocket and wanders off with a different group of tourists while Mrs. Novak’s back is turned. He accidentally-on-purpose crashes into a security guard and lifts his access ID before making his way back to the exhibit Dr. Novak had presented to them. He’s sure that the doctor had plenty of interesting stuff to tell them, but he’d been a bit too preoccupied with the man’s gravelly tone and the way his mouth parted around each word to really take any of it in.

Dean reaches the exhibit and sees only two visitors there. No employees in sight—perfect. He moves purposefully to the side door that Dr. Novak had come from and presses the employee ID to the scanner. A little light above the door handle turns green, so Dean opens the door and slips through.

He finds himself in the middle of a narrow hallway, and after looking up and down the length of it, he decides to try going to the right. The hallway turns at the end and opens into a large room with several long, metal tables on one side, a raised platform in the middle, and a few cubicle-looking compartments on the other side. The ceiling is very high up with several windows to let sunlight in, so the place feels very bright and spacious.

“Excuse me,” an already familiar voice says from right behind Dean, and he leaps to the side, startled.

“Hi,” he says.

But Dr. Novak just walks past without acknowledging him, and Dean frowns, disappointed. But the doctor didn’t order him to leave, either, so Dean follows him across the large room and into a smaller one with two couches and a coffee table on one side and a desk on the other. One wall is completely occupied by shelves and another covered by curtains. The last is mostly bare, with a few landscapes in frames.

Dr. Novak sits down at his desk and opens a drawer, pulling out several files and placing them on the surface. Dean hesitates just inside the entrance, feeling awkward and insignificant.

“You’re Mr. Wilkins, I presume,” Dr. Novak says without looking up.

“Uh, no,” Dean answers, stepping closer to the desk. Castiel Novak, the name plate reads. It’s a unique name. Weirdly fitting.

“He is running late, then, it seems.” Dr. Novak frowns and finally looks up at Dean. “Well, you clearly are not Ms. Burke, so who are you, and why are you here?”

“I’m uh, Dean. I’m from that class you talked to earlier this morning.”

“Dean,” Dr. Novak—Castiel—repeats, and Jesus, Dean’s never felt so pinned down by a person’s stare before. “Well, you can’t have come here by accident, so I assume you want something.”

Yeah, he only wants to see what Castiel looks like when he’s not in control, wants to take him apart piece by carefully controlled piece and see what lies underneath. But saying shit like that would totally get him thrown out on his ass, so Dean says, “I had some questions for you.”

“Why didn’t you ask them at the end of the session?”

“They weren’t really relevant to the exhibit,” Dean says, and he’s maybe floundering a bit now, unsure where to go with this.

Castiel considers this for about a second before looking back down at the folders on his desk. He opens the one on top as he says, “I am busy. You may ask your questions, and if they are quickly answerable, I shall do so. If not, I will direct you to another expert.”

“Uh, how old are you?” Dean asks. He regrets the question as soon as it’s out of his mouth—that question is probably gonna be ruled as inappropriate and get him kicked out.

“Just turned thirty-three,” Castiel replies, to Dean’s surprise. “Next.”

“Well, I was wondering how long it took you to get this job. That is—how much schooling did you have to do?” There. Much more appropriate question.

“If you intend to emulate the path I took to reach this position, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I was a precocious child, and though I chose not to advance more quickly in school than my twin, the unfortunately slow pace left me with far too much free time, time that I used to improve myself. We technically received the same amount of schooling in years, but I hold two bachelor’s degrees, one master’s degree, and three doctorates.”

Dean whistles. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t be able to do that,” he says. “I’m very impressed.”

“Yes, I’d anticipated that reaction. Did you have any other questions?” Castiel asks, looking up at Dean again.

“Uh, yeah. I—”

He’s interrupted by a knock on the open door and turns to see a young man standing in the doorway. “Ah, Mr. Wilkins. I hope you have a good reason for being tardy,” Castiel says.

“My car broke down,” Mr. Wilkins says.

“Then you should have called. I assume you have a cell phone.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Use it, next time.”

“I will, sir,” Mr. Wilkins says, eyes lingering on Dean with some confusion.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to entertain any more of your questions today, young man,” Castiel says.

Mr. Wilkins looks confused. “Sir?”

“I’m not speaking to you, Mr. Wilkins,” Castiel says severely. Turning his piercing gaze back on Dean, he says, “You were smart enough to get in here—I’m certain you’ll have no trouble finding your way back out.”

“Uh, no. No trouble,” Dean says. “Thanks, Dr. Novak.”

“Not at all, Dean,” Castiel says, and it might be a little pathetic how pleased Dean is by the fact that Castiel remembers his name.

“Bye,” he says, walking past Mr. Wilkins to exit the room.

He kinda can’t believe what just happened. He hadn’t anticipated actually getting to talk to the guy, let alone being able to ask him questions and learn some more about him. The guy’s thirty-three—that puts what, fifteen years between them? But Dean’s almost nineteen, so it’s technically more like fourteen, right?

Dean hasn’t reached the hallway he came from when someone shouts, “Hey, you!”

“Aw, shit,” Dean mutters under his breath when he sees a security guard heading his way—he recognizes the guy as the one whose access card he stole.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the security guard says, furious.

“Nowhere.”

The security guard opens his mouth, but he’s interrupted by—

“There you are, Dean.”

They both turn in time to see Castiel walking briskly toward them, and Dean blinks a couple times, sure that he’s seeing things because in no world would someone like Castiel stop to save someone like Dean, especially when Dean’s in the wrong.

But Castiel is still coming toward them, and when he reaches them, he holds out a book. “I believe you forgot this.”

“Oh,” Dean says, taking the book. He doesn’t really pay attention to the title, only the fact that Castiel Novak is printed in large block letters at the bottom, designating him as the author. “Thanks, man.”

The security guard looks between them uneasily before asking Castiel, “Is he with you?”

“Yes. He stopped by to visit. One of my sister-in-law’s more diligent students,” Castiel says with a polite smile. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, no, no problem at all,” the security guard says quickly.

“I thought I heard raised voices,” Castiel presses.

“Oh. I just—I thought he stole my access card.”

“I see,” Castiel says. “But he’s just a boy. Aren’t you a trained officer? I find it more believable that you simply misplaced the card. After all, what kind of a security guard would you be if you couldn’t even guard your own belongings?”

The man’s face is flushed red with embarrassment by the time Castiel finishes speaking, and he mumbles something about making rounds before fleeing the scene.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says, and freezes because shit, where did  _Cas_  come from? But it’s too late to add on the rest of his name, so he can only look at Cas—no, Cas _tiel_ —and hope he doesn’t call the security guard right back to take him away.

But the doctor only hesitates a moment before responding with, “I suppose it was bad timing that you went out when you did. I’ll walk you to your group.”

“What about uh, Mr. Wilkins?” Dean asks.

“He can wait. Come along.”

“Okay, then.”

As they start down the hall, Cas says, “You should give me the security guard’s card. I’ll put it in the lost and found on my way back.”

“You really are a genius, aren’t you?” Dean says, passing the card over to Cas.

“It’s been said,” Cas answers with a small smile.


End file.
